You Did Good
by Parnassus
Summary: Indulgent one-shot: Dean's in bad shape and fading fast, Sam's just trying not to panic. A little care-taker role reversal with Worried/Caring!Sam and Hurt/Loopy!Dean. You've been warned.


**Summary: A fairly pointless, mushy one-shot in which Dean is in rough shape and Sam is the awesome, freaked out little brother. Could be set in any season. **

**Disclaimer:**** Don't own 'em, yadi-yadi-yada. Usual lingo. **

**A/N:**** Wow, it's been a while! Real life has been super busy - hence the whole AWOL thing - writing screenplays, producing a new film, waiting tables, kickin' ass and takin' names ;) Anyhoo...good to be back! ****This is basically a little something to get my creative juices flowing and to advocate for the loving, caring brother we all know Sam Winchester is. Hope y'all enjoy!**

* * *

It was nice here.

It felt good down in the dark.

No pain or confusion or fear. Just blissful nothing and welcoming warmth enveloping him like a blanket. He really could just stay here forever.

It hadn't felt good before. The details were growing hazy but he was sure of it. Nothing outside of the dark was good. That's why he needed to stay here. Far, far away from whatever was lurking outside.

He felt the warmth blooming, spreading down the small of his back and relished the comfortable numbness overtaking what remained of his consciousness.

Not long now.

He kept on falling. Slowly…so slowly down into the darkness. It was closing in on top of him. But as he fell further, it grew colder. Icy fingers crawled up and down his spine, robbing him of the warmth. The blanket was suffocating him.

This wasn't right. He was forgetting something. Something important.

But he was falling and he couldn't remember. He only knew that he was forgetting.

And cold. He knew he was really fucking cold.

Something was grabbing, pleading, holding on…trying to pull him back up.

It hurt. Everything hurt now. He didn't want to go back, but he didn't want to fall anymore either.

A disjointed flash of brightness and suddenly the darkness was dissipating, devoured by the light. And then hands – urgent and shaking and supporting – pulling him back into reality.

He didn't want to go back.

"_Dean, you gotta wake up."_

No. No he really didn't want to.

"_Oh, God…Dean please. Please wake up."_

Sam.

"Sss…'mmy?"

"Dean? Yeah, yeah, right here." Sam's warm, giant mitts palmed his face. "Hey, look at me!"

"M'tryin'," Dean slurred miserably. "Qu-qui' movin'." His head ached like hell and there was an odd taste coating the cotton feel of his tongue – like old blood and motor oil. He gagged.

"Whoa, hey…" In an instant, Sam was gently, expertly turning him on his side. His left hand was still cupping Dean's head and the other supported his chest. "Okay, I gotcha."

Dean gagged once more before his stomach momentarily decided to settle. He rolled onto his back and took a few breaths, trying to clear his clouded head. Sam's pinched features swam in and out of view as he carefully helped Dean sit up.

"Wha'…happened?"

"Let's just get you to the car."

"'M bleedin'," Dean noted with detached curiosity as he touched a finger to the sticky, saturated fabric of his undershirt. A red stain bloomed slowly over his stomach.

"Yeah." Dean vaguely registered the borderline panic in his little brother's voice. "I know. We're gonna get you some help though. You're gonna be fine."

He thought he probably ought to be frightened too, or at least concerned. But he just felt numb…and kind of floaty. If it weren't for the persistent pounding behind his eyes he would've been more than happy to sleep.

"Can you walk?"

"'Course I can walk."

Sam puffed air through his nose, automatically calling Dean on his bullshit. "Right, here we go."

Sam hoisted him up and the last thing Dean remembered was the uncomfortable pressure against his stomach as his little brother hefted him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and they started back towards the car. And when Dean's nose bumped into Sam's ass, he couldn't have welcomed the darkness sooner.

**oooooooooo**

_"Dean, c'mon. Please…"_

Swimming out was harder the second time. But if he didn't, Sam sounded like he might start bawling and that shit was unacceptable.

"'M 'wake," Dean mumbled, then winced against a stab of pain that left him panting.

"Easy," Sam soothed.

They were on the road, the scenery whirling by at a breakneck speed. Dean rolled his head to get a better look at his brother.

Sam looked awful - miserable and exhausted and grey like maybe he was about to throw up.

Funny, those were Dean's sentiments exactly. Except Dean actually did throw up.

Sam waited patiently and kept a firm grip around his upper arms while Dean hung out of the passenger's side door and heaved his guts onto the asphalt.

"Don' feel good, S'mmy," he slurred and leaned over to retch again.

"Yeah I know, man. We'll get you fixed up. Take it easy." Sam waited a moment to make sure Dean was finished before pulling him back inside the car. Dean muttered something unintelligible and lilted against the window, immediately fading into sleep.

"Hey," Sam reached over and gently patted his chest. "I know it sucks. But you gotta keep your eyes open a little longer, okay? You can sleep soon, I promise."

"Not sleepin', jus'…just restin' m'eyes," Dean protested. But he forced open his eyelids and groaned as he was assaulted by a sickening surge of dizziness. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he was probably going into shock. He watched absently as Sam reached over to turn up the heat.

"Okay, well rest with 'em open, huh?" Sam gently shook his shoulder. "Hey, hold on to this," he instructed, indicating a towel he'd dug out of the back seat. Dean grunted and bunched the fabric against the seeping wound. He heard the rumble of the engine as Sam turned the key and pulled the Impala back onto the road, exhilarating past the speed limit almost immediately.

"Hey," Sam said, a little too loudly. "Talk to me."

Dean coughed and slipped a little further down in the seat.

"Dean, I'm serious. Talk."

"Gettin' blood all'ver m'car."

"I'm sure she'll forgive you."

"S'a bitch t'clean off af'er it dries."

"We've cleaned off worse."

"Yeah…" Dean chuckled even as the darkness threatened to smother him again. He fought it back. "'Member…'member that time you got carsick and puked chili all over th'back seat? Was some gnarly shit, S'mmy."

Sam nodded, the barest hint of a smile appeared at the corners of his lips.

"I remember I'd never seen Dad so pissed. He didn't take us anywhere without a stock of plastic bags after that. Even topped that time he caught you and what's-her-face goin' at it in the backseat."

"Laura," Dean hummed, eyes unwittingly slipping shut at the memory. "Was so worth th'ten mile run, dude."

"Hey," Sam nudged his shoulder again. "Save the day-dreaming for your alone time."

"'Lone time," Dean snorted, then winced against the pressure. "S'that wha' you call it when y-you jerk off, Princess?"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam shift in his seat, cheeks tinged pink and Dean couldn't help but milk it. It was a welcome distraction. Operation: Make Sammy Squirm.

"Whack th'weeds? Choke th'chick'n? Beat yer me-"

"God, stop. I give, all right?"

"Bet you light a few candles huh, S'mmy? Maybe s-some music t'set th'mood?"

"I liked you better when you were blowin' chunks."

"Least I made it outta th'car, bi'ch."

"Dean, I was six."

"Six-year old with 'nuff velocity to make a f-frat boy jealous. Y'were always 'n overachiever, S'mmy."

"Shut up."

Dean smiled and felt himself drifting. Fragmented memories danced behind his eyelids as he allowed the car's comfortable heat to cocoon him. It felt good - almost pleasant as the familiar hum and motion of the car rocked him gently from side to side.

"Shit, I was kidding, Dean," Sam's panicked voice erupted in Dean's eardrums and he begrudgingly forced his eyes open. "Don't shut up. You gotta keep talking. And since when do you ever listen to me?"

"Since m'tired."

"We're almost there. Just hang on for me."

"Not goin' 'nywhere…"

Dean felt the hand on his shoulder give a firm squeeze.

"I'm holding you to that, big brother."

Dean blinked and the next thing he knew, Sam was braking as the car screeched to a stop. The sudden movement jarred his body and he groaned, clenching his teeth.

"Oh God, I'm sorry. Dean, I'm sorry," Sam's hands shook as he yanked the door open and reached in to maneuver his brother out of the car. "Just gotta get you inside. Just inside, okay?"

Everything was horribly blurred and unsteady. A sailboat caught in a maelstrom. Dean felt himself swaying and struggled for a handhold, fingers snatching at his brother's shirt as Sam wrapped his arms around him.

"S…S'mmy? Fe-…feel weird...a'munna..." Dean trailed off, moaning as he collapsed face first against Sam's chest. The world was caving in around him, swallowing him.

"Dean? No. Nononono don't. Don't do that." Sam's grip around his shoulders hurt. "Dean!"

He heard his brother calling for help as the pain melted into the darkness. This time Dean didn't fight, didn't mind the falling - just slipped down quietly.

**oooooooooo**

His nose itched.

For some reason he couldn't lift his hand to scratch. And the itch was annoying as hell. If he didn't get to scratch soon he was gonna go nuts. His eyes were gritty and uncooperative when he finally cracked them open.

White washed walls, prickly sheets, and the nauseating stench of antiseptic.

Fucking hospitals.

At least there were drugs.

And Sam. _Where the hell was his brother at?_

Dean's eyes roamed the room before coming to rest on the messy mop of hair lying on the bed right beside his hand.

Sam's arms pillowed his head and his face was turned towards Dean, mouth open and drooling in the clutches of deep sleep. He was half sliding out of a flimsy plastic chair pulled up as close as possible and half draped over the edge of Dean's bed.

Dean couldn't lift his hand, but he could sort of move it. He flexed his fingers, weakly mussing his little brother's hair.

Sam only nuzzled his nose deeper into the bleached blanket, smacking his lips as he settled into his new position. Dean rolled his eyes and tugged on a convenient lock of hair.

Sam's eyes drifted open, blinking groggily a few times before awareness returned and he pushed himself away from the bed, instantly searching Dean's face for signs of discomfort.

"Hey," Sam rasped, voice scratchy and hoarse. Dean wondered when his brother had been shouting, didn't want to think about why he'd been crying. "How you feeling?"

"Nose itches," Dean managed to croak. Dammit, he sounded worse. "You got a little somethin'…" he nodded at Sam's chin.

Sam's eyebrows wrinkled in confusion before he finally got the message. Embarrassed, he quickly swiped a hand over his mouth before wiping it on the thigh of his jeans. Dean smiled, a familiar warmth spreading inside his chest like it did every time he was reminded that in some ways, Sam was still just his geeky kid brother.

"You…you want me to…?" Sam trailed off, gesturing vaguely at Dean's nose.

"Nah, I like a challenge."

"Other than that, how do you feel? Anything hurting? You in any pain?" Sam persisted.

Dean thought about it for a second and settled on achingly numb…in a drugged to the gills, day-old road kill sort of way.

"'M okay," he answered. "How 'bout you?"

Sam seemed to startle at the question. "What? Yeah, no…I'm fine."

Right. Because the dark bags didn't make him look like a strung out raccoon and the grey pallor didn't speak volumes of exhaustion and a fearful, restless night.

"Really? 'Cause you look like shit."

Sam ducked his head and roughly massaged the back of his neck. "Right and you look like a million bucks, huh?"

Dean dredged up what felt like a smirk, but probably came out as more of a grimace.

"You scared the hell outta me, Dean." Sam's twitchy smile and breathy huff of laughter did zip to mask the emotion he was obviously battling to keep in check.

"Sorry," Dean rasped. "Gotta keep you on your toes, right?"

Sam glanced up, eyes bright with unshed tears, and swallowed. There was an awkward length of silence while Sam stared at him with such a painfully apologetic expression that Dean wondered if he was about to confess that he'd crashed the Impala in his rush to the hospital.

"Fuck, Dean," Sam finally choked. "You almost died. There was…" his voice broke off, unhinged and distraught. "There was so much blood. You stopped breathing once and they almost couldn't…I didn't know what to do. I just…you really suck. You don't get to do shit like that."

"Well," Dean breathed, suddenly uncomfortable. "You did _something_ right. I'm alive aren't I?"

"Yeah," Sam laughed bitterly and scrubbed his hands over his face. "I just…I didn't know what to do…" His breath hitched and he self-consciously bit his lip.

"Hey, Sammy, look at me."

Sam's chin trembled and he gulped back the fresh tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Dean hated witnessing his brother's defenses crumble, hated that he was the cause of it. Sam was upset and overwhelmed – trying to recover from this whole damn mess, trying to breath again. The cool-headed problem solver had left the building and the terrified little brother was left standing alone, seeking comfort and reassurance.

"You did good. 'M here. Still here, 'kay?"

"Yeah," Sam whispered, scooting his chair closer to the bed. "Yeah, okay."

"'Kay, good," Dean repeated, fingers brushing against Sam's arm in a peace-offering gesture. "Now go find me a wheelchair and le's blow this popsicle stand."

"Shut up and go back to sleep." Sam's laugh was wet and shaky, but at least he no longer seemed to be skirting the edges of a full-fledged meltdown.

"Not th'boss a me," Dean slurred as the drugs worked their magic and coaxed him back to the land of chocolate dunked strippers and fluffy marshmallow lingerie. "When I get back…better be ready t'hoof it…"

"I'll be waiting."

* * *

**END**

**- Thanks for reading! Thoughts are always more than welcome :) **


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